


An Oxford Lad

by GillianInOz



Series: Endeavour Thursday [2]
Category: Endeavour
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Thursday is Morse's Dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 21:01:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12307725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillianInOz/pseuds/GillianInOz
Summary: Summary: Fred arrives home with his son, Morse. How will the newcomer fit into the Thursday household?





	An Oxford Lad

Fred Thursday pulled the car up in front of his house with a sigh of relief. It was late evening and Morse was curled up in the back seat, his father’s coat draped over him. They’d stopped for a meal, and then two bathroom breaks. Morse had seemed embarrassed to ask, but Fred could see that beneath the composed exterior he was still nervous and worried.

He opened the back door and crouched, carefully shaking the boy’s shoulder, not wanting to startle him. To his surprise Morse immediately reared up with a gasp, blinking and looking around in confusion.

“It’s all right, son,” Fred said. “We’re home.”

Morse blinked at him, and then over his shoulder at the little white house. “Home?” Morse said, still looking dazed.

“That’s right. Come on, Mrs Thursday will be waiting.”

Morse climbed out and hauled his suitcase and books out with him. 

“Manage?” 

“Yes, sir,” Morse said politely. He stopped uncertainly at the end of the path, and Fred turned and smiled encouragingly at him. 

“Come on, son. I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.”

Fred unlocked the front door and stood back to let Morse precede him, then he took off his hat and hung it on a hook on the mirrored coat stand.

“There you are,” Win hurried out of the kitchen, wiping her hands. Fred shrugged his coat off and leaned down to kiss her cheek as she took his arm. He could see she was nervous, her fingers gripped his sleeve tightly as she smiled at the boy standing in the hallway, still holding his suitcase and books. “Hello,” she said.

“This is Morse,” Fred said, laying a hand on the boy’s narrow shoulder. “Morse, this is Mrs Thursday.”

“Morse?” Win repeated, but Fred shook his head and she quickly recovered. “Morse,” she said. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Morse said politely. “Sir,” he said, craning his head and glancing up apologetically. 

“Up the stairs, on the right,” Fred said. “Leave your things, I’ll bring them up in a bit.”

Win watched bemusedly as Morse carefully deposited his battered case on the hall carpet, and laid his books down next to it, before heading up the stairs.

“Nerves giving him a bit of a dicky bladder,” Fred explained to her in an undertone. “We stopped twice on the way.”

“Poor little mite,” she said, sympathetically. “It can’t be easy for him, losing his mum and then being shoved from pillar to post.” She frowned up at Fred. “Morse?”

“Long story,” Fred said, rolling his eyes. “Is that your stew and dumplings I smell?”

“I’ll get it on the table,” she said, bustling off.

“The nippers abed?” Fred called softly from the dining room, taking a bottle and some glasses from the sideboard and sitting at the table.

Win had the table set already, she carried in a covered dish and started ladling portions on their plates. “I just got them down. I didn’t know what to say to them, Fred, so I thought we might leave it as a surprise for tomorrow.”

“Well, Sam’s but three,” Fred said, pouring them both a glass. “And Joanie gets on with everyone. They’ll be fine.”

Morse appeared in the doorway and stood there, looking uncertain. 

“Come in, love,” Win said. “I hope you like stew and dumplings?”

“Everyone likes stew and dumplings,” Fred said, tucking in.

“Yes, Mrs Thursday,” Morse said politely, and he took his seat and picked up his knife and fork.

“How was your trip?” she asked Fred, and they chatted easily over dinner as Morse made short work of his meal, and then polished off a second portion.

“I like to see an appetite in a growing boy,” Win said, collecting up the plates.

“I enjoyed it very much,” Morse said, standing up hastily. “May I help you with the plates?”

Win paused and smiled at him approvingly. “Not your first night, love,” she said warmly. “But offer again tomorrow night and I won’t say no.” She paused in the doorway. “I’ve put Sam in with Joanie for now, Fred, so Morse will have Sam’s room. Lucky we switched him up to his big boy bed,” she noted.

“Let’s get you settled then, shall we?” Fred said. Morse beat him to his suitcase and books, and Fred didn’t argue, appreciating his independence. “It’s not a big room,” Fred said over his shoulder as he climbed the narrow stairs. “But there’ll be room for another bed when Sam is a bit older. Hope you won’t mind sharing with your little brother.”

“Little brother,” Morse repeated thoughtfully. “No, sir, I don’t mind sharing.” Fred pushed open the door and revealed the bedroom, one narrow bed against the wall, a dresser with a few toys on it, and a small wardrobe that had seen better days. 

“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Fred said, thinking it was going to be a tight squeeze.

“I don’t want to be any bother,” More said, and Fred saw he was still standing in the doorway, his suitcase in one hand, the fingers of his other hand white where they gripped the string tied tightly around his books. Fred gently took the case and books, laying them on the dresser, then he steered Morse to the bed and sat him down on it.

“This is your home now, Morse,” he said, crouching to look into the boy’s shadowed eyes. “You’re not a bother, and you never could be. All right?”

Morse nodded, eyes veiled by his russet lashes, and Fred suppressed a sigh. Ah well, it was early days yet.

“I’ll leave you to wash up and get into your jim jams,” Fred said, standing with a weary sigh. It had been a long, stressful, emotional few days. 

“May I read for a while, sir?”

“If you like, but not too late. We all get up pretty early in this house.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.”

Fred pulled at his ear thoughtfully. “I appreciate good manners, Morse, but do you think you might start calling me dad?”

Morse thought about it for a moment, tilting his head to one side. “All right,” he said finally. “Dad.”

Fred chuckled and shook his head. “We’ll be fine,” he said cheerfully. 

888

“How is he?” Win said. The television was on low and she’d fetched their drinks in from the dining room.

“Settling in,” Fred said optimistically. 

“He’s going to need time, Fred,” she reminded him. “Don’t expect too much from him right away, okay?”

“He’s a deep one,” Fred said, slinging his arm around her shoulder. She nestled against him, her hand laying over his heart. 

“Tell me,” she said, and Fred told her. About Prudence Lane, and the house in Lincolnshire, and Mr and Mrs Morse and the baby Joyce.

“I asked him, on the drive, why he’d left her the toy. I mean, it was obviously one he’d had from his mum when he was small, so you’d think he’d want to hang onto it. He said it was because it was all he had to give her. Fair broke my heart.”

Win sniffled and pressed her face against his shoulder. “Imagine just packing the boy off with a stranger,” she said indignant through her tears. “Even if he’d been with his mother since the divorce, that man must have had the raising of him until he was eight years old. Surely he must have cared for him at some point?”

“He might as well have been abandoning a pup by the side of the road,” Fred said, remembering the careless shrug from Cyril Morse, and the way he’d just walked away and left his wife to deal with the whole thing. 

“Well, we’ll do right by him,” Win said staunchly. “Things will be tight for a while, but thank goodness you’re on an inspector’s pay now. I don’t know how we’d have managed if you’d still been drawing sergeant’s wages.”

“Or in a council flat in Stratford,” Fred said.

“With one bedroom and no hope of a bigger flat for ten years or until we had ten kids,” Win chuckled. “Might not have been under the happiest of circumstances, love,” she said, stroking Fred’s chest sympathetically. “But I think Oxford will be good for us. A good place to raise the children.”

Fred caught her pointed chin in his big fingers and tilted her head up to look into her eyes. At thirty his Win was a beauty, long, dark, waving hair, blue eyes, her skin still as smooth and lovely as it’d been at 20 when he met her. 

“You didn’t sign up for three children though, love,” he said softly. 

“I signed up to be your wife, Fred, for better or for worse. That boy is your son, and that makes him a part of you. There’s no part of you I don’t love.”

“Better or worse,” Fred murmured, dropping a kiss on her curving lips. 

“Richer or poorer too,” she reminded him. “If the clothes he had on and that tiny case is all he has, I daresay we’re looking at some big expenses, pretty quick. Shoes, underthings, the lot. And he’s tall, another growth spurt and we’ll be doing it all again in a year.”

“We’ll manage, love,” Fred said optimistically. “We always do. And look on the bright side, maybe there’ll be a crime wave and I’ll get in some nice overtime.”

“And leave me looking after three kids day and night,” Win grumbled, but it wasn’t a real grumble, she was still stroking his chest and leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Endeavour?” she said, harking back to Fred’s earlier story. “What kind of name is Endeavour?”

888

Morse woke early and peered out into the hallway. He could hear voices in the room next door, Mrs Thursday and two others, childishly piping.

His new brother and sister, he supposed. Morse wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea of being a big brother. When he’d arrived to live with Gwen and his father, the man he’d always called his father anyway, he’d learned for the first time that he had a little sister. 

Gwen hadn’t liked him being near the baby, said that he would be too rough, but Morse had crept in sometimes and played with her when Gwen was busy. She’d grabbed his finger and smiled at him. 

The New Dad walked out of the bathroom and clapped him on the shoulder. “Morning, Morse. How did you sleep?”

“Very well thank you, sir. Dad,” Morse corrected himself quickly.

The New Dad winked. “You’ll get used to it. Get dressed and go downstairs, it’s always a madhouse in the morning, but Mrs Thursday will boil you an egg if you like.”

Morse watched him rattle down the stairs before he went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face and smoothed down his hair. The New Dad sure seemed to smile and wink a lot, but Morse wasn’t sure he trusted him quite yet.

Still, he’d told the truth about not taking Morse to the boy’s home, so that was something. Morse ventured down the stairs and stood uncertainly in the kitchen doorway. Mrs Thursday turned from the stove with a smile.

“Morning, love, how’d you sleep?”

“Fine thank you,” Morse said politely. “Can I help?”

“You can carry those through to the dining room,” she said, pointing to two bowls of cereal. “I’ll bring these.”

Morse obediently picked up the bowls and followed her down the short hall into the dining room. A little girl with two dark plaits sat at the table playing with a small doll, and a little boy in a booster chair sat with a battered tin car, pushing it along on his tray, making hooting noises.

“Toys away,” Mrs Thursday said briskly. “Those two bowls for the littlies, Morse,” she said. “We’re having boiled eggs.”

“I hope you didn’t go to any trouble,” Morse said, carefully laying a bowl each in front of the two little children. The girl immediately picked up her spoon and dug into the porridge, but the boy ignored the bowl and carried on with his play.

Mrs Thursday smiled and scooped two eggs onto the egg cups at the head of the table and one more each in front of her and Morse. “It’s just as easy to cook four eggs as three,” she said, and upon consideration Morse had to agree that it probably was.

Hadn’t stopped Gwen complaining he thought, and then chided himself for being uncharitable. His mother wouldn’t have liked that.

At the thought of his mother Morse felt a pang of loneliness, and he applied himself to carefully cutting the top off his boiled egg so that Mrs Thursday wouldn’t see that he was sad. Gwen had said she couldn’t be doing with moping and tears around the house, and anyway, she’d said, Morse was a big boy and big boys shouldn’t ought to cry.

“Watch this pair while I fetch the toast,” Mrs Thursday said, hurrying out.

“Who are you?” Joan said boldly. The effect was rather spoiled by her mouth full of porridge. 

“I’m Morse,” said Morse.

“Morning my loves,” the New Dad said as he strode into the room. “Morning, Joanie” He kissed Joan on the top of her shiny dark hair, and she looked up at him with a porridge grin. 

“Mornin’, daddy,” Joan said. 

“Morning, Sam,” The New Dad kissed the top of the little boy’s coal black hair, and deftly took his toy out of his hand and deposited it on the sideboard. “Daddy!” the boy complained, but the New Dad just swept by and patted Morse on the shoulder. “Morning again, Morse. Have you been introduced to this rabble yet?”

“I was waiting for you,” Mrs Thursday said, sweeping back in. She deposited a plateful of buttered toast on the table and stood back for a moment as if surveying it. Then she nodded in satisfaction and sat down.

“Mum,” the little girl said. “That’s Morse.” She pointed one sticky finger.

“I know, love,” her mother said, wiping the finger with a napkin. 

“Morse,” the New Dad said. “This good little girl eating her porridge is Joan, she’s five years old. And this naughty little boy sulking about his car is Sam, he’s nearly three. Joanie, Sam. Morse is your new brother.”

Morse watched carefully as the little girl frowned at him from across the table. What if she didn’t like him? Would Mrs Thursday and the New Dad send him away if she didn’t? Would Mrs Thursday think he was too rough to play with this new sister and brother?

“How come we got a new brother?” Joan said. 

“You just did,” said the New Dad, and Joan seemed to take what Morse thought was a rather inadequate explanation, to say the least, in her stride.

“Okay. Can he push me on the swing?” she said. “Can you push me on the swing?” she demanded of Morse.

Morse looked to Mrs Thursday, who seemed to be in charge of things around here. “Can I?” he asked.

“Course he can,” Mrs Thursday said. She’d cut his toast into soldiers and put it on his tea plate, and Morse picked one up and admired it. It was very neat, and almost as straight as he would have cut it.

“Thank you,” he said, and tucked in.

“What about you, Sam?” the New Dad said, also tucking into his eggy soldiers. “Would you like Morse to push you on the swing?”

“I want my car,” Sam said, crossing his arms mutinously.

Morse understood that Sam seemed to have a very determined mind.

“Eat your porridge first,” the New Dad said. “There’s starving children in China who’d be glad of it.”

Morse frowned at this, but ate his breakfast a bit faster, in case the New Dad was of a mind to feed the starving children in China eggy soldiers as well as porridge.

“What’s on the schedule for today, mum?” The New Dad said, and Morse realised he was calling Mrs Thursday mum. That seemed odd. 

“We’re going to walk down to the school and enrol Morse,” Mrs Thursday said, and Morse turned his head to stare at her. This was probably something he should pay attention to, and seemed more realistic than feeding children in China, because wouldn’t the eggs go bad on a long sea voyage?

“Sounds promising. Morse is a bit of a scholar, aren’t you, Morse?” the New Dad prompted. “You still have that paper you got from the teacher yesterday?”

With a start Morse realised that had been just yesterday. That this time yesterday he’d been in Gwen’s kitchen eating the toast he’d managed to only slightly burn for breakfast. No eggy soldiers, no little brother, no clean, shining house.

“Morse?” the New Dad was saying, and Morse realised he was sitting staring at his egg.

“You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to, love,” Mrs Thursday said kindly, but Morse was mortified to have her think he didn’t want to show her anything she cared to see, and he felt himself blush a little as he reached in his pocket and pulled out his paper.

“An A plus,” Mrs Thursday said in admiring tones, much as the New Dad had done yesterday. Morse felt compelled to set the record straight.

“It’s a bit undeserved,” he admitted. “I was rather rushed as I had to do it in the dark with only a torch, and I didn’t realise until after Mr Blyth returned it to me that I’d made some mistakes with the punctuation.”

Morse frowned, thoughtfully. “I’m not sure why he gave me such a high mark.”

Mrs Thursday and the New Dad were looking at each other, and Morse wondered if they were disappointed that he’d accepted the higher mark rather than point it out to Mr Blyth. He hadn’t liked to, really, as it might seem a bit like Showing Off, something that Gwen said he did far too much. Also he hadn’t liked to imply that perhaps Mr Blythe had missed the errors. 

“Maybe he just liked the essay and wasn’t bothered too much about a few punctuation mistakes?” the New Dad suggested, and Morse pondered this while he finished his egg and drank his milk.

“Anyway,” Mrs Thursday said. “After the school we’ll stop by the park so that Morse can push Joan on the swing.”

Joan grinned at this, and Morse noted that swinging duty seemed to be something taken very seriously in the Thursday household.

“Me too! I want to swing too!” said Sam, banging his spoon and splashing porridge in the tray. Morse held his breath, wondering what Mrs Thursday would have to say, but she just wiped the mess with her napkin and continued her story.

“Then we might take the bus into town and go shopping,” she said. “Maybe you’d like to stop in at the library, Morse, and we can get you a library card.”

Morse felt as is his heart had stopped in his chest. “A library card?” he said, scarcely believing it. His father, his other father, he’d said reading was a waste of time unless it was the Bible, or the newspapers to find out what the Tories were up to now. Morse knew that was one of the things the other father was wrong about, and he also knew the other father didn’t really believe that himself, as he spent quite a lot of time reading the racing guide in the back of the paper as well. 

“Would you like that?”

Morse could only nod, he was almost afraid that if he spoke he’d find this was just a dream, and Mrs Thursday hadn’t really promised him a library card.

888 

The New Dad left after kissing Mrs Thursday goodbye, and Morse watched through the front windows as the car pulled away. The New Dad was still a stranger, but he was a more familiar stranger than Mrs Thursday.

He heard crockery rattle behind him and realised he should be helping to clear up, quickly he picked up plates, carefully stacking them and following Mrs Thursday into the small kitchen.

“Thanks, love,” she said. “Can you clear the rest while I get the littlies sorted for our walk to the school?”

“I’d be glad to,” Morse said honestly. He thought that if he made himself useful that Mrs Thursday wouldn’t think he was too much of a bother. So he cleared the table and after an educated guess as to the whereabouts of the dish soap, he filled the sink and carefully washed the dishes.

He was drying them as Mrs Thursday came back into the kitchen. “Oh,” she said. “You didn’t have to do that. Thank you.”

“Thank you for breakfast,” Morse said. “I wasn’t sure where everything went, so I’ve just been putting them here.” 

“I’ll put them away as you finish drying,” Mrs Thursday offered.

888

They walked to the school in the warm late August sunshine, and Morse looked around with interest at the pretty little houses and their neat gardens. The school was only a short walk away, and Mrs Thursday explained as she pushed Sam in his pram, with Joan walking alongside, that she and Mr Thursday had chosen the house with this in mind.

“Joan will be starting here next year,” Mrs Thursday said.

“I want to go to school now,” Joan said. “Why can’t I? I can go with Morse, you wouldn’t mind, would you, Morse?”

Morse looked helplessly at Mrs Thursday, seeing quite a few flaws in this plan, but Mrs Thursday just chuckled. “Plenty of time for that,” she said. “Besides, don’t you want a new uniform when you go to school? And new shiny shoes?”

“With bows?” Joan said hopefully. “Please, mum, can I have bows on my shoes?”

“We’ll see,” her mother said. “Morse, we’ll get your uniform on Saturday, so you won’t be starting school until Monday. Give you a few days to get settled, eh?”

“Are we still going to the library?” Morse said, just in case she’d forgotten.

“Of course we are,” she said, and Morse relaxed.

888

The school was much bigger than the school he’d been at in Lincolnshire, and much cleaner looking than the school in Manchester. Morse liked school, for the most part, it was just the other students he didn’t have much time for.

Still, there was a library here too, and the classrooms he peered into as Mr Jones the head teacher walked them through the halls had rather interesting looking globes and skeletons. 

In his office the head teacher sat down and linked his hands in front of him on the desk. “I’ll have the secretary phone Endeavour’s old school,” he said. “To send his records on. That will give us an idea of where to place him.”

Morse felt his face going wooden and bit his tongue. It was one thing to have told the New Dad not to call him that, even when he’d been just a stranger with an interesting motor car. But Morse knew it would be a capital mistake to ask this important head teacher not to use his first name. Then it turned out he didn’t have to.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Mr Jones,” Mrs Thursday said politely. “Morse prefers to be called by his last name. I hope it won’t be a problem, and it would really help him settle into a new school, and make friends,” she said, emphasising the last few words.

“Well,” Mr Jones said doubtfully.

“I like to sign E. Morse,” Morse said, trying not to let his hope show. “I think it’s rather distinguished.” 

Mr Jones looked at him a bit quizzically and Morse held his breath, but then a tiny smile tugged the corner of Mr Jones’s mouth. “I suppose that won’t be a problem. I’m sure you will be a diligent student.”

“Morse loves to read,” Mrs Thursday said. “We’re getting him a library card today, aren’t we?” she said.

Morse nodded, glad to hear she hadn’t forgotten.

“The sum of things to be known is inexhaustible, and however long we read, we shall never come to the end of our story-book,” Mr Jones quoted.

“A. E. Housman,” Morse said automatically.

Mr Jones blinked at him. “Quite right,” he said thoughtfully. “Indeed. I think we’ll all be very happy to welcome Morse to our school.” He stood up and offered his hand, and Morse stood quickly and shook it firmly. 

888

“Well, that went all right, didn’t it?” Mrs Thursday said. 

“Can we go to the park now?” Joan complained. 

“We can, my love,” Mrs Thursday said. “And you and Sam were so good that I think I’ll treat us all to a cone from Mr Whippy. What do you say, Morse?”

“I’d be delighted,” Morse said honestly.

888

The rest of the morning was a whirl, riding on the big red bus, the shining market called Richardson’s, and then sitting in the park and eating ham and tomato sandwiches for lunch.

“Did you make these before breakfast?” Morse asked, carefully unfolding the package Mrs Thursday handed him, wrapped in grease proof paper.

“I make dad his sandwiches every day, don’t I, Joan?” Mrs Thursday said, and Joan looked up. She was delicately picking out the tomato slices from her sandwich and dropping them on the wrapper.

“I don’t like tomato today,” she announced.

Mrs Thursday smiled. “All right, love.”

888

Walking into the library reminded Morse of walking into the Friends meetings with his mother. The hushed stillness, the softly echoing footsteps. But instead of the seated people with bowed heads coming together to worship in silent waiting, there was a constant underlying motion of pages being turned, books being slid on and off shelves, scratching pens. 

Morse was instantly in love. 

“You go pick out some books,” Mrs Thursday said. “I’ll get your card, and then be in the Children’s Section, picking out some stories for Joan and Sam. Take your time, I could do with a sit down.”

Morse nodded and then carefully scrutinised the shelves as he walked down them. He knew exactly what he wanted for his first book, but after that it was all going to be a mystery, a treasure hunt. Who knows what he might end up with?

He came close to bitter disappointment when the Librarian loftily informed him at the check-out counter that he could only borrow books from the Children’s Section, but Mrs Thursday saved the day by presenting her own brand new library card.

“Just check them out on mine,” she said, and the librarian pursed her lips and seemed to be looking for some way to deny that request, but in the end she conceded with a small frown.

“As long as he’s very careful with them,” she said.

“I will be,” Morse assured her. “I’m always very careful with books, especially library books.”

She sniffed at that, but she did stop frowning and started stamping the library cards.

“Don’t you want to get any yourself?” Morse asked Mrs Thursday anxiously. Perhaps he could put one or two back if she did, but he’d be hard pressed to decide which ones.

“Not this time,” Mrs Thursday said. “Perhaps I can borrow one of yours when you’ve finished with it?”

Morse thought that was a splendid idea.

888

They managed the shopping and the pram and the bag of books on and off the bus, but they were all exhausted by the time Mrs Thursday unlocked the front door. 

Morse helped her hang the children’s coats, then he carried the shopping into the kitchen and lifted it onto the table. Mrs Thursday was taking the children up to wash their faces and put them down for a nap, and Morse wondered how long it would be before he could get to his new room and start looking through the books.

“Can I help you with dinner?” he said as Mrs Thursday came back into the kitchen and filled the kettle.

“Oh, I can’t even think about that yet,” Mrs Thursday said. “All I want is a cuppa and a few bikkies. Would you like some milk and a Hobnob? Then you can take your books upstairs and have a bit of quiet time while the littlies are napping.”

Morse thought that Mrs Thursday really did have the best ideas. 

888

Morse ran his hands over the pile of books stacked on the little cupboard beside the bed. He planned to start with The History of Oxford, City of Dreaming Spires, since he thought he should learn about his new home, so he carefully lifted it from the top of the pile. 

But ahead of him lay The Three Musketeers, The Complete Stories and Poems of Edgar Allen Poe, Sherlock Holmes and The Scarlet Pimpernel. Morse hugged it to him like a guilty secret, the sweet anticipation of diving into the pages and absorbing everything within them.

888 

The children woke at four and Mrs Thursday knocked on his door and asked him if he’d come down and watch them while she cooked. 

“Can I bring my book?” Morse asked, carefully noting the page number.

“Of course. Just keep it away from Sam, he likes to chew on books.”

Morse raised his brows in shocked horror, vowing to keep his books away from the voracious eating habits of his new little brother. He carefully closed and then checked his bedroom door before he followed Mrs Thursday and the children downstairs.

Watching the children basically involved sitting with them in the lounge room while they stretched out in front of the television. Morse found it easy enough to tune out the inane show they were laughing at, and he guessed that Mrs Thursday could usually just pop her head around the corner and check on them while she was cooking.

He appreciated the responsibility though, and made it a point to lift his head after turning each page, to check and make sure they were still all right.

The New Dad came in at half past six with a whirl of “Dad’s home!” And the littlies running out into the hall to greet him. Morse peeped around the door jamb and saw Joan being lifted high and given a smacking kiss on the cheek, while Sam had gripped the New Dad’s shin with his arms and legs, and was sitting on his foot. 

“Have you been good?” the New Dad asked Joan, and she nodded fervently. Then the New Dad looked at him and smiled, and Morse felt a kind of odd sensation in his chest, like a happiness at seeing the New Dad, and a pang of loneliness for his mother, all wrapped up with a kind of bittersweet longing to feel free to run to his dad and hug him like Joan and Sam did.

“We went to the library,” Morse volunteered, and the New Dad took an exaggerated step, with Sam still clinging to his leg like a koala, and clapped Morse on the shoulder.

“You’ll have to tell me all about it,” he said.

So Morse did.


End file.
